Free Web NovelChapter 130: Chapter 129: "Yan the Ninth", Three Punches
The door to the private room opened.
A man stood in the doorway. He had high cheekbones and a sinister glint in his eyes. In one hand, he carried a white cloth bundle that faintly reeked of blood.
"Yan the Ninth!"
Ding Zhao’an, who was seated in the host’s chair, exclaimed in surprise. He quickly stood up and tutted, "I didn’t expect you to be so fast. We’ve only just sat down..."
Then, he ordered his men, "Quick, get a bowl and chopsticks for Master Jiu."
Seeing it was an "acquaintance," the burly, square-faced man, who had been on alert, relaxed his tense posture slightly. But his tiger-like eyes remained fixed on the newcomer.
He watched the man’s gait, the line of his shoulders and neck, and especially the subtle aura he exuded with every movement. Suspicion began to grow in his eyes.
The newcomer, however, seemed oblivious to the square-faced man’s scrutinizing gaze. He simply walked in slowly and... closed the door gently behind him.
"Master Yan Jiu."
The fat man in the suit also stood up, wine glass in hand, and greeted the newcomer with an affable smile.
The latter gave the fat man a casual glance, ignoring him. He just looked at Ding Zhao’an and gently placed the white cloth bundle he was carrying on the table.
"Looks like Master Jiu has taken care of business?"
Ding Zhao’an’s gaze had long been drawn to the bundle, which was stained dark red. He couldn’t hide the delight on his face.
The newcomer didn’t answer. He just drew the short knife tucked at his waist, pulled up the hem of his brocade robe, and began to slowly wipe the blade. Without looking up, he said coolly, "Young Master Ding can see for himself."
"Good, good!"
Ding Zhao’an couldn’t suppress his eagerness. Face flushed—whether from the wine or excitement, it was hard to say—he quickly moved out from his seat. In a few steps, he was in front of the newcomer, reaching out to untie the blood-soaked knot.
The white cloth was peeled away, layer by layer, under Ding Zhao’an’s trembling hands. The women in cheongsams serving in the room, as well as the fat man in the suit, were all captivated. They stared at Ding Zhao’an’s hands, waiting for the object wrapped within to be fully revealed.
Only the square-faced man at the table kept his eyes fixed on the newcomer. He tore at the leg of lamb in his hand, bite by bite, while watching the man slowly clean his blade.
Finally, Ding Zhao’an unwrapped the white cloth bundle on the table down to its last layer.
This innermost layer was completely soaked in blood. The stench in the room grew thicker, but no one cared. Everyone was waiting for the mystery under the final blood-stained layer to be unveiled.
Ding Zhao’an took a shallow breath, his eyes glinting as he gently lifted the final layer of white cloth.
But before anyone could see what was wrapped beneath it, the "Yan the Ninth" standing beside Ding Zhao’an suddenly erupted into action.
A glint of cold steel shot out from his hand like a spirit viper, striking straight for the side of Ding Zhao’an’s neck!
"CLANG—!"
The crisp sound of metal on metal exploded, followed by a sharp THUD.
A gnawed lamb bone flew out from nowhere and embedded itself deep into the pillar beside Ding Zhao’an.
"Yan the Ninth" stood perfectly still. The blade of his short knife, already halfway through its thrust, hummed and vibrated before he gently pressed it still.
On the other side, the burly, square-faced man, who had casually wiped his hands on the tablecloth, rose slowly to his feet. He stared at the knife-wielding "Yan the Ninth" and spoke in a cold, indifferent tone, "No one... has ever dared to kill someone under my watch."
The private room fell deathly silent.
Before anyone could recover from the lightning-fast exchange, a low gasp was heard. One of the waitresses in a cheongsam was staring intently at the table, her hand covering her mouth, her face a mask of horror and disbelief.
Following her gaze, the others finally saw it clearly. Under the white cloth on the table was, as expected, a blood-caked human head. But the face on the head was identical to the "Yan the Ninth" standing in the room!
"CRASH—"
Ding Zhao’an finally snapped to his senses. His face went pale as he staggered backward, knocking over a chair. He pointed a trembling finger at the "Yan the Ninth" before him.
"You... you’re not Yan the Ninth?!"
In an instant, all eyes in the private room converged on "Yan the Ninth."
The man, however, didn’t panic. Instead, he let out a laugh, took a step forward, and raised his knife as if to stab at Ding Zhao’an again.
"You have some nerve!"
A roar like muffled thunder erupted. The square-faced man on the other side of the round table finally moved. He was like a leopard that had been gathering its strength for a long time, lunging forward for the kill.
His fist shot out like a cannonball, aimed straight at the face of "Yan the Ninth." The force of the punch tore through the warm, stale air of the room!
But "Yan the Ninth" didn’t even turn his head. He merely raised his left arm, balled his fingers into a fist, and met the square-faced man’s attack with a casual-looking punch of his own.
But in the instant he struck, the brocade sleeve on his arm was ripped apart by the muscles that suddenly swelled beneath it.
Amidst the shrill sound of tearing fabric, it was as if a ferocious giant python had broken its bonds to reveal its scaled body. The sight made the square-faced man’s eyes narrow sharply!
"BOOM!!!"
The muffled thud of fist meeting fist was so solid it was sickening.
The overflowing shockwave of Vitality shook the cups and plates on the table, making them CLATTER violently. Even a few drops of soup from the copper hot pot splashed out.
The square-faced man had come in fast, but he retreated even faster. With a THUMP, he landed back in his original spot, then STOMPED backward another two steps.
"Not... bad."
He stared at the man before him, shaking out his already aching arm as he slowly forced the words through his teeth.
In that last exchange, he clearly had the initiative and the Momentum of his charge, yet he was the one who came out slightly worse for it.
His opponent’s strength seemed far beyond his expectations. ’No wonder he dared to come alone into the heartland of the Qinglian Gang for a face-to-face assassination.’
"WHOOSH—"
Just then, a light breeze stirred. The square-faced man’s vision blurred, and the next thing he knew, "Yan the Ninth" had ghosted across the round table and appeared right in front of him.
He was just a foot away, the force of his movement washing over the man’s face. The square-faced man was startled but not panicked.
He took a deep breath, marshaled his Vitality, and threw another punch, preemptively striking straight for his opponent’s face.
But in the next second, a scalp-numbing CRACKLE of joints echoed out. The "Yan the Ninth" before him seemed to have suddenly grown a size larger, his clothes straining to contain the ridiculously gnarled muscle lines that were now faintly visible beneath.
His opponent threw a punch, and a piercing, mournful shriek tore through the air between them.
"BOOM!"
This time, the collision of their fists actually produced a sound like clashing metal.
There were no Martial Arts, no techniques—only a clash of the purest, most primal strength and speed!
The square-faced man felt an unimaginably violent force surge from his opponent’s fist. It pierced straight through his Vitality’s Qi Membrane and slammed into his body, putting so much pressure on his Tongxuan-level bones and muscles that they began to CREAK.
His eyes instantly bulged. His whole body convulsed as if electrocuted, and the mahogany floorboards beneath his feet CRACKED, a spiderweb of fissures spreading out.
He was sent staggering madly backward—STOMP, STOMP, STOMP. With each step, his face grew a shade redder. Finally, his back slammed into the wall with a THUD, and he could no longer suppress the coppery taste rising in his throat. A mouthful of blood sprayed out.
"PFFT—"
"You..."
The square-faced man clutched his chest, which felt like it was about to explode. He stared at the man before him in utter disbelief, opening his mouth but finding no words to say.
The light from the chandelier overhead fell on his opponent’s shoulders, but he couldn’t make out the expression on "Yan the Ninth’s" face. He could only see the man take a soft, inhaling breath.
"CRACKLE—CRACKLE—"
Another sound, like the ratcheting of a mechanism being wound tight, came from his bones and sinews. His opponent’s already shockingly burly frame actually grew another inch taller!
An indescribably terrifying aura emanated from him, carrying a strange, cloying stench of cold and blood.
The square-faced man saw that in the center of the broad chest, now visible through the torn clothes, a spiderweb of black veins bulged menacingly, spreading outward...
Then, his opponent took a step forward. He slapped a palm toward him in a motion that seemed slow yet was deceptively fast. Two words left his lips.
"Overturn. The Seas."
Where the palm passed, the very air seemed to compress, creating visible ripples of distortion.
The square-faced man’s pupils constricted. The sense of crisis that had been building inside him to a breaking point finally exploded!
His eyes became bloodshot. With a furious roar, he raised both fists and fearlessly met the attack.
In the instant he struck, he seemed to see a pitch-black tsunami, fifteen feet high, silently cresting over his head. It blotted out all the light in the room as it crashed down upon him...
